


Russian dragon

by Hypatia_66



Category: The Man From U.N.C.L.E. (TV)
Genre: Challenge Response, Episode Related, F/M, Gen, Season/Series 01
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-31
Updated: 2018-12-31
Packaged: 2019-10-01 15:54:55
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 605
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17247092
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hypatia_66/pseuds/Hypatia_66
Summary: LJ Short Affair challenge. Prompts: jump, whiteThe end of "The See Paris and Die Affair"Napoleon abandons Illya to the arms of the Russian dragon





	Russian dragon

Napoleon took Mary out onto the dance floor, ignoring the glare of her protectress, and challenged his partner with, “Hey, Pussycat. Dance with ze lady, hmm?”

As Napoleon waltzed away with Mary Pilgrim, Madame Grushenka suddenly beamed. Illya, outraged, turned away and donned his glasses – a hitherto foolproof deterrent to the opposite sex. It didn’t work this time because as he turned back, the Russian dragon put her arm round his shoulders and, putting her dragon persona aside, smiled into his eyes, “You are Russian, Ilyusha darling?”

<><> 

Maybe it was something to do with the scent of the white roses on the table… She tugged at his hand to persuade him to jump up and dance with her. He rose grudgingly and was led onto the dance floor and into a close embrace. After a moment or two, he found to his surprise that he was enjoying it – he found that she was not only light on her feet but a natural dancer, supremely musical, and kept perfect time. She radiated happiness; it lit her face and he saw that she must once have been a very beautiful woman.

“Madame,” he began. 

“Call me Sophia,” she said.

“Sophia - you dance very well,” he said, then in his own language, “Sofya, were you ever married?”

“Yes… I was married once – before the Great Patriotic War,” she said, now solemn. “We lived in Stalingrad; my husband died fighting during the siege.”

His clasp on her hand tightened for a moment. “I’m sorry,” he said. He could make no commonplace condolences, not to this fiery woman; theirs was a shared history.

“And you, Ilyusha? Where are you from?”

“Kiev.”

“Ah. Babi Yar… Were you there then? You must have been very small.”

Illya was silent. He hadn’t realised until this moment that she was Jewish. They circled, curiously in accord.

Then he said, “Do you have children?”

“I had a son,” she said and smiled, her eyes soft. “He would have been about your age if he had lived. He had beautiful dark curls. You must have been such a lovely child, too, but so different with your blond hair and blue eyes.”

“What happened to him?”

“Ah, my Dmitri, my little Dima… he died during the siege.”

“Of hunger?”

“Hunger, yes… and sickness…” she was silent for a moment. “it was the 19th of September 1941.”

Illya looked up. “My eighth birthday,” he said.

She met his shocked gaze with her dark brown eyes. “Dima was eight, too.” She touched his face gently and asked, “What happened to _you_ that day?”

<><> 

Napoleon saw this from across the room and watched in astonishment. They were in close conversation, intent upon each other, ignoring everyone around. They seemed to dance effortlessly, at one with each other. Very intrigued, he started to guide Mary towards the other side of the floor. “Look at them,“ he said in her ear. “What do you think they’re talking about?”

Mary glanced round. “I’ve never seen her look so … softened. She’s always so fierce.”

“Maybe there’s a heart of gold under that tough exterior. Illya looks like he’s pouring his heart out.”

“Looks like _she_ is, too.”

The two Russians, oblivious to their surroundings noticed nothing as Napoleon and his partner passed them.

All they heard was Illya saying, “But you escaped…”

“Like you. We were very lucky, Ilyusha.”

Before Napoleon and Mary could dance even closer to catch more, Illya and Sophia went to sit down holding hands. Illya picked up his glass, saluted her and raised Sophia’s hand to his lips, and she leaned forward and kissed his forehead, like a mother.

<><><><> 


End file.
